Chapter 7
Dante
She was like a beacon in the dead of night.
I had been wandering around the damn store for twenty minutes trying to figure out what the hell I needed.
I’m sure most people would wonder how the hell I got to the age of thirty-nine and had no idea how to cook. Well, I’m not really sure how it happened, but I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that I never lived alone until six months ago when I bought my house. I always had a roommate or was living in hotels with the guys.
Growing up, my parents took care of all of the cooking. When I got on the circuit, we were eating out or had someone cooking for us. For thirty-nine years, I managed to never touch an oven or stove, and I had been fine with that until I realized I needed cookies and my supplier was stone-walling me.
Kennedy stood there like a deer in the headlights. Her face had paled, and she looked like she was going to puke all over the floor. She still looked pretty, just a little queasy.
“Kennedy,” I repeated.
An odd, low grunt came from her lips.
“You okay?” My feet had moved on their own accord toward her, and they didn’t stop ‘til my toes were inches away from the tips of her running shoes.
“Err, I’m good,” she uttered.
“You think maybe you could help me out? I’m a bit lost here.”
She looked around, her eyes scanning the shelves. “In the baking aisle?”
I looked to my left and saw sacks of flour and sugar. “Yeah, except I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
She tilted her head, and she seemed to come out of her queasy stupor. “Then what are you doing here?”
And that was where I was going to sound like a complete idiot. “I wanna make cookies, but I have no idea what to put them on.”
She blinked slowly. “So you made the cookie dough, but you don’t know how to bake them?”
“I didn’t make them. I bought them.”
She looked me over and wrinkled her nose. “When did you buy them?”
“Yesterday. From Molly. Well, Sage was involved, but you saw how her and I get along. She’s the whole reason why I’m stuck baking cookies.”
She nodded, either understanding what I was going through or just agreeing with me to get the hell away from me.
“You need a cookie sheet. Probably two depending on how many cookies you, um, well, bought.”
“And where would I find this cookie sheet?”
A smile spread across her lips, and I couldn’t tell if she thought I was crazy or if I was joking. She pointed to the left. “Right there.”
I saw a bunch of pots, pans, and a bunch of other shit that I didn’t recognize. “You mind pointing exactly to what I need?”
She looked behind her, then peeked around my shoulder. “Are Molly and Kellan going to pop out of somewhere and yell April Fool’s Day?”
I shook my head. “Unfortunately, it is October and I really am this pathetic.”
She turned to the shelves on the left of us and hunched down. “You need a cookie sheet. Flat and most have a bit of a lip. I have ones that don’t have the lip, and I hate them because then I had to go out and buy ones with a lip so now I have double the amount of cookie sheets I need when all I really use them for is fish and mozzarella sticks.”
I bent down next to her and looked at the two pans she was pointing at. “They make cheese and fish mixed together in a stick? And why do you need a lip for that?”
She grabbed two of the ones with the lip and stood. “Because I tend to bang the pan into the oven when I set it down and the sticks fall off. And, it’s not fish and cheese together. They are their own stick.”
I looked up at her from my crouched position in front of the shelves. “So why don’t you just set the pan down a little gentler?” I stood and peered down at her.
“Because, well, uh…” She pressed the pans into my hands and took a step back. “I guess because that just makes too much damn sense.”
I chuckled and looked down at the pans. “So this is all I need?” I turned them over in my hand. “Rather simple.”
Her laughter made me raise my eyes. She had a smile on her lips. “Making cookies is pretty simple. Especially when someone else has made the dough for you. Now all you need to do it turn on the oven, stick them in, then take them out after twelve minutes.”
“Twelve?” She had just answered my next question.
“Well, that’s about the average time it takes for cookies to bake.”
“And, uh, what do I put the oven at? I hit bake, the numbers flash a couple of times, and then it goes back to the clock.” I was seriously thinking that the expensive ass stove that had come with my brand new house was fucking broken.
A giggle erupted from her lips. “You need to set the temperature.”
I tilted my head. “Come again? I want it to bake. Why the hell do I need to set a temperature? Bake means bake, right?”
“Because the higher the temperature you set, the faster things bake. Or possibly burn.” She tapped her chin with her finger. “Make sure you stay away from the button that says broil.”
And she had said that baking cookies were easy. “So how do I set the temperature, and what do I set it at?”
“Three-fifty. I don’t know what your oven looks like, but you can always Google it to find out how to use it.” Her voice was light, and I could tell that she was trying not to laugh her ass off at me. “Can I ask a question?”
“Hit me with it.” I already looked like an idiot. How much worse could it get?
“Do you have working smoke detectors, because I’m pretty sure you’re going to need them.”
I shook my head and tucked the pans under my arms. “Now you got jokes, huh?”
She shrugged and moved to stand behind her cart. “If that’s all you need, now I need to motor on over to the frozen pizzas and bagels that are calling my name.”
My stomach gave an audible growl at the mention of pizza. I was starving, but it was going to have to be takeout for me tonight because baking cookies were going to be about the only thing I was going to be cooking. One step at a time.
I held up the pans. “Yep, I am good to go.”
She slightly shook her head and gave me a small wave.
I watched her walk away, trying to figure out why the hell I was racking my brain to think of something to say to get her to stay. “Um, Kennedy?”
She looked over her shoulder at me. “This is a bit like déjà vu,” she replied.
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
A small smile spread across her lips. “You’re welcome. I’m always up for helping cookie-addicted men in the baking aisle.”
And that is where I decided there was no way in hell that Roman was going to be her decoy.
That job was going to be all mine.
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